


The Deadly Tour Affair

by DixieDale



Category: The Girl from U.N.C.L.E., The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV), The Persuaders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:34:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The tourism industry may never be the same again!  A Spring Singles tour led by a crooked tour guide, his duplicitous assistant, a dubious unknown backer with a highly-lethal agenda, a load of pigeons along with a small assortments of hawks, and two intrepid UNCLE agents.And now, in Milan, there are two new additions to the tour, by the names of Sinclair and Wilde.  Lord Brett Sinclair and Danny Wilde on a Spring Singles bus tour?!!  No, of course not - that would hardly be likely, now would it?  And the reservations clearly state those two tourists to be Lady Agatha Sinclair and Ms. Sophie Wilde.  Well, how could it be otherwise?
Kudos: 5





	1. UNCLE Headquarters, New York

**Author's Note:**

> Sophie Wilde and Lady Agatha Sinclair, together at last? Yes, the two aunts from The Persuaders TV episode 'A Death In The Family' - as played by Tony Curtis and Roger Moore.

While Lord Brett Sinclair and Danny Wilde were dealing with their mutual frustrations and misunderstandings (in 'Fate Don't Take No For An Answer'), Alexander Waverly, Head of UNCLE New York, was considering the current problem on his desk, a 'Spring Tour' that has turned deadly.

Waverly leaned forward and pressed the intercom button. "Miss Daniels, now, if you would please."

Not a minute later the phone rang in the office shared by agents Dancer and Slate. 

Mark had started to get up from his desk when he'd heard the quick "yes, of course, Stella. I'll be there right away." 

Well, there was only one Stella that he knew of, and that was Waverly's newest secretary, and one really tried NOT to keep the Old Man waiting. It made him testy - well, MORE testy. 

However, the summons had been for April Dancer, alone, her partner Mark Slate, NOT being included. 

April shook her head ruefully, waving him back to his seat. 

"No, just me, Mark. No explanation, of course, but she was most firm on that point."

Mark found himself more than a little uneasy watching April head off for that private meeting. He knew his partner could take care of herself in most circumstances, but Waverly had a few April-centric issues that upped the ante considerably in Mark's opinion.

When Illya Kuryakin was likewise called upon to appear in Waverly's office, alone, HIS partner raised a questioning brow. 

"No, Napoleon, I do not know what he wants," Illya offered in a measured tone as he tugged his jacket into place. "Asking for clarification seemed inappropriate, or at least, inadvisable; he seemed rather more gruff than usual from what I could hear in the background. In any case, I doubt Stella knows what this is about, and I saw no need to get his back up, as the saying goes. It would only make things potentially more difficult."

Yes, that was true, but still Napoleon Solo wasn't all that thrilled at his partner heading off to the metaphorical lion's den alone. They worked alone on occasion, partnered with others as well, but being separated was never something they looked forward to - they were both fine agents on their own, but the two of them together somehow became far more than the sum you would expect, as if one plus one somehow suddenly, magically, equalled four.

Illya and April met outside Waverly's office, each surprised to see the other agent there, but careful not to let their surprise or their apprehension show. They gave each other a professional nod in greeting, well aware that Stella was only a few feet away. They also suspected Waverly had the whole area on a viewing screen; there had been more than one occasion when he'd said or done something that pointed in that direction. 

It certainly wasn't the time to ask each other "do YOU know what this is about?"

Soon they didn't have to ask. Mr. Waverly made it clear, at least once he got his pipe drawing to his satisfaction. Well, there were priorities, after all!

April Dancer and Illya Kuryakin were to pose as a young couple, previously unknown to each other, but shortly finding themselves enjoying a spring romance on a sightseeing tour. No, not a couple to begin with, since that might arouse suspicion since that WAS a 'Singles' tour, but two young people both engaged in the tour, though joining at different stops, meeting and instantly finding themselves head over heels in an unexpected romance. 

The two agents cast doubtful eyes at each other; they were friends, yes, but had rarely partnered together, at least not just the two of them. Waverly noticed that and glowered at what he obviously considered to be criticism of his orders, albeit unspoken criticism.

A frosty look now accompanied those lowered shaggy grey eyebrows. 

"Yes, you two. Work out the details. I am sure two such talented young people as yourselves will have no trouble managing."

April offered a mild protest, "but surely Mark . . ."

"If I had wanted Mr. Slate on this assignment, Miss Dancer, be assured I would have called him in for this briefing, rather than Mr. Kuryakin. I do not! I would like SOME chance of this being a successful operation!" 

April flushed, knowing the Old Man was still steaming about their LAST assignment. Yes, it had gone wildly awry, but that hadn't been Mark's fault, though Waverly had seen fit to put it solely at his feet. 

Well, who would have foreseen that Madame Olivier would have taken one look at April's partner and latched onto Mark as a potential model for her new mens' clothing line, putting him squarely in the spotlight when he was supposed to be firmly in the shadows. 

Mark hadn't tried to attract her attention, had tried to run shy, but that only seemed to make the Madame more determined, which in turn drew even MORE attention. It was she who fluttered close, plopping that yachting cap on his head, draping the dashing scarf around his throat, and had motioned for that photographer to spring out of nowhere, snapping pictures, ensuring that anyone who had overlooked him before certainly weren't overlooking him now. Not just the general bystanders were staring, no, but also that Thrush agent who had previously missed Mark in his scrutiny of April, but now had the young UNCLE agent literally forced into his pathway by the flare of flash bulbs.

"Sir . . ." she tried to protest, albeit weakly, knowing Waverly.

A loud disgruntled harrumph let April know it was time to let it be, no matter how unfair it all was. Still, it might be interesting to work with Illya one on one; she hadn't before, though she had with Napoleon, and the four of them had worked together numerous times. 

She was pretty sure Mark wouldn't be all that thrilled, of course, and wondered, just a bit uneasily, what Waverly had in mind for her partner while she was off on a summer holiday. He was a devious Old Man, far more than you'd think at first impression, and his motives were sometimes convoluted.

Illya didn't bat an eye, not til they were out of the office. In fact, they were almost back to Illya's office when he uttered a small sigh and a very low "he does tend to hold a grudge, doesn't he? Mark, over that last assignment; Napoleon over his last two expense accounts. Napoleon is not going to be pleased at this development, and I doubt your partner any more so. However, I see we have no choice, so let us discuss the matter once we obtain details of this so-called tour. Just what does a 'Spring Singles' tour involve?"

"A guided bus tour of Italy? A 'Spring Singles' tour?" Mark asked with some wary skepticism, along with a great deal of suppressed annoyance. "You and Illya?" 

He LIKED Illya, of course, a great deal, considered him a friend; certainly respected the man's considerable abilities and well-developed talents. It was just that - well, HE was April Dancer's partner; it irked him more than a little for her to be sent haring off on a 'romantic fling' with another agent, even a good friend like Illya, even if it WAS just a cover. It wasn't as if HE shouldn't qualify, for any number of reasons, just as easily. 

Of course, he knew various reasons WAVERLY would think he didn't qualify, including that last mission, their superior's less-than-stellar opinion of him in the first place, and there was that bit of gossip running around the canteen, the one linking his and April's name in less than professional terms. Nonsense, that last, but the grapevine would always be there; if it wasn't him or his partner providing the raw material for the poisonous fruit it bore, it would be someone else. 

{"Though you might think Waverly would focus on crimping that avenue for gossip rather than reacting to things he hears, no matter how silly those things usually are."}

The call for Mark to come to Waverly's office, only to find Napoleon Solo headed in the same direction, made him slightly more hopeful that Waverly had changed his mind. 

That was a vain hope, as it turned out. Still, maybe they would be involved with April and Illya's mission on SOME level.

No, not exactly. While Napoleon was to be available to provide backup on that particular mission, Mark, on the other hand, would be stuck in the Computer Sector reviewing the procedures manual for the new computing tabulating system and making any edits needed. Yes, he really WAS in Waverly's black books!

April left for Italy to get her cover story firmly in place. The following morning, Mark opened the door to the office they shared to stare in dismay at the two trolleys piled with computer printouts. Jesse Douglas was waiting with a sympathetic smile to guide him through the basics, the general order, how edits should be marked.

"I know you're good with computers, Mark, but this doesn't so much require computer skills as strong eyesight and attention to detail and a firm resignation to being bored out of your mind. I really have to ask, just what DID you do to land you with THIS slog?! I mean, it's already been edited so many times I'm surprised the paper is still holding good. By the time it's been edited one more time and signed off on, it will probably already be obsolete before it even gets put into play."

Mark groaned, grabbing the top set of printouts, one of the sets of special editing pens, and shook his head. 

"You do NOT want to know, Jesse, believe me!"

Well, explaining that Waverly had a burr stuck deep inside wouldn't be all that wise. {"Wouldn't put it past the Old Man to have our offices bugged!"}

He watched the door close behind the laughing Jesse, and dug in, pausing only to call Napoleon and wish him luck, and give a gentle hint that if Napoleon got distracted by any pretty female along the way and thereby let anything happen to April or Illya, there would be one hell of a row when he returned! Mark would see to that even if Waverly didn't!

Plans changed suddenly, as plans had a way of doing at U.N.C.L.E. New York. An urgent, even frantic request from Michael Delvecchio, retired UNCLE employee, formerly from the New York office, now vacationing in Venice, had the Solo/Kuryakin team on a plane to find out what had the retired ex-UNCLE employee in such a lather. Well, the words 'world domination and the annihilation of all mankind' did tend to get one's attention. 

Waverly had given instructions for them to "deal with this, and quickly! We can't have Miss Dancer lolling around Rome, joining that blasted tour, and not having you there to follow through, Mr. Kuryakin! He asked for you two specifically; seemed to think you are the only ones who can handle this, whatever in blue blazes 'this' might be! Gentlemen, you will need to leave directly for Florence as soon as you take care of this issue. At least you will not be traveling far."


	2. Venice

Three busy days later, Napoleon ruefully studied his partner's scowling and severely battered face.

"Mr. Waverly is not going to be very happy - - *achoo!!* - - with us, Illya." 

That mighty sneeze was only the latest of several, and despite Illya's apprehension, had NOT caused the overhead light to shatter, though he thought it had probably come close. It had certainly made his aching head throb even worse.

"That is only fair. I am not very happy with us either," Illya growled, leaning his head back against the raised metal headboard of the bed in the small clinic Napoleon had brought him to at the direction of the closest UNCLE office.

He had a probable concussion, or so said the doctor. For HIS part, Illya was quite certain he did, having experienced such a number of times, enough to recognize the symptoms quite well. In addition, he had a badly sprained ankle and various other injuries. 

Napoleon, while receiving no actual physical injuries in the encounter, had started coughing, sneezing, and blowing his nose every few minutes, his barking honk sounding rather like a trained seal. Illya put it down to the painkillers he'd been given that he increasingly found that to be highly amusing - such an undignified array of sounds for such a dignified person!

"No, I suppose not. I do have to wonder how is it Delvecchio's supervisor at the time of his retirement didn't bother to note in the file that the guy was seriously delusional, ready for a 'tin foil hat', as I believe it is sometimes called?" 

Napoleon had every intention of asking Marvin Gates that question in the near future, though preferably after he could sound somewhat more professional, or at least less like an aquatic mammal.

"Doing so would probably have led to questions about how long those delusions had tilted Delvecchio's world view in such an extreme manner, and why that supervisor hadn't caught on much earlier," Illya cynically offered. "Or if he had, why he hadn't done something about it, at least pulled him off active duty for an evaluation. But perhaps the supervisor felt there was no danger, since the man was merely processing and filing expense reports."

Napoleon sniffled, then blew his nose once again while Illya fumed over the whole affair.

"Well, although he retired only two months ago, from the notes we found, he'd spent several months prior deciding how to wipe out the 'blue lizard people before they take over the world'. Starting with us, it would seem - the 'primary leaders' - before working his way through all the Section II agents in North America, the ones he had decided 'reported' to us and did our bidding. I doubt he would have stopped there, at least not of his own accord. 

"The one almost amusing thing, Napoleon? It seems his first 'clue' was the too frequent necessity for purchasing new suits to replace ones you'd damaged in the field but according to HIM, that was actually attributable to the effect your 'naturally acidic scales' had on the fabric!"

Napoleon snorted, this time from that claim rather than his rapidly deteriorating symptoms from his dunking in the canal. He wondered fleetingly what the response from the Accounts Department would be if he entered Delvecchio's theory as justification on his next expense account. The suit he was wearing WAS a total loss! Even the talented Del Floria brothers couldn't salvage it, even if he HAD wanted to take the filthy and smelly set of clothing back with him in his luggage.

Napoleon scowled. "He didn't date those earliest entries in his journals, the ones detailing his OTHER delusions, but he was getting increasingly off bubble and it had surely been going on for some time. You don't go that far off overnight, or at least I hope to hell you don't! And I STILL don't know how no one could see it!"

Napoleon had learned the whole story (well, as much as he could understand) from the gleeful man who'd managed to lure and trap them, injuring Illya significantly in the process. Watching Delvecchio use his foot to abruptly push the bound and unconscious agent into the dark canal had Napoleon quickly abandoning his 'trying to be understanding and soothing to someone obviously at less than full capacity' endeavors to something far less gentle. He sure as hell wasn't going to let his partner drown while he gave psychological counseling! Delvecchio had ended up flat on the stone rim, whimpering and babbling some nonsense, while Napoleon did a quick dive into the water in search of his partner. 

Now, the former UNCLE employee was being evaluated, though for other reasons than the ones Illya and Napoleon had just been treated for at the clinic. The psychiatrists at the hospital where he had ended up were most interested, of course, if more than a little skeptical regarding those 'blue lizard people' who were going to take over the world and eliminate humanity - or at least the portions of it they didn't reserve for breeding their future meals and slave labor. Hopefully not so interested so as to start believing any of it, of course, but one can never tell just how gullible supposedly rational and intelligent people could be sometimes.

"Well, one good thing came out of it," Napoleon said with noticeable satisfaction while sniffing and reaching for his damp handkerchief once again. "You certainly can't go on that 'singles tour' Waverly had in mind for you. If it was an appearance at a ski lodge or someplace where you could acknowledge your injuries, along with a reasonable explanation, and not have to move around much, maybe, but not a bus tour. No, someone else will have to meet up with April and figure out what's going on there. Maybe Mark, if Waverly's over his snit."

Illya frowned in confusion. He'd known Napoleon wasn't particularly happy about Illya's upcoming assignment, but this sound like more than just mild annoyance. Yes, they preferred to work with each other, but that was not always possible. What on earth . . .?

"A good thing? Why? Surely you were not truly concerned about my pretending a romance with April, Napoleon! That would be - - - " and a small, slightly shy, and increasingly knowing smile gradually replaced the frown on the Russian's face. 

"That would be what?" Napoleon demanded rather apprehensively, not sure he wanted to hear what Illya thought about that rush of what surely WAS jealousy. After all the times he'd scoffed at Illya's being jealous over some female or the other, it was quite a turnaround for HIM to fall prey.

He tried to remember just when that particular smile of his partner's had first melted his heart, and found he couldn't, not the exact moment. But now, it did, every time. Embarrassing, perhaps, but true.

"Rather endearing, actually," Illya admitted, only increasing Napoleon's evident embarrassment. 

{"Well, at least there's no one else in the room to hear that!"} the senior agent thought with an internal groan.

That smile grew, reading that reddening face accurately. Well, Illya found it a welcome change, Napoleon now being the jealous one. Though he thought it only seemed fair. He'd certainly spent more than his share of time on the other side, Napoleon giving Illya many a jealous moment, whether with charming the occasional Innocent, or the forays into the feminine ranks at the various UNCLE offices, or even his disporting himself with Angelique, viper in human flesh that she was.

"So - instead of you squiring the lovely and charming April Dancer through Italy, all under my watchful eye, of course, you're stuck with recovering with me in a Venice safe house," the senior partner offered smugly, unable to help a smile of anticipation at the thought.

"I will endure, Napoleon - I will endure," Illya replied in an arch tone. "Now, get us out of here, if you don't mind. I presume there will be food and drink at this safe house?"

"I assume so; if not, I'll see to it. Just as I'm sure Mr. Waverly is seeing to having someone meet April and someone else to maintain a discreet watch."

Well, part of that was true, anyway.


	3. UNCLE Headquarters, New York

"I find it inconceivable how two such qualified and experienced agents as Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin managed to be not only tricked, but overwhelmed and put out of commission by someone like Michael Delvecchio," Waverly said with a scowl. "A retired accounting clerk, of all things!"

For the Head of UNCLE New York to be making such comments about his prize team, especially to Mark Slate, was a sign of just how annoyed he truly was with Napoleon and Illya. 

Mark wisely made no comment of his own, just waited for Waverly to get on with whatever he'd been summoned to do. 

{"Hopefully something more exciting than proofreading manuals that have already been proofed at least a dozen times! So far I've found only three typographical errors of no importance, one grammatical error of even less, and a grocery list someone apparently lost in the readouts! Not exactly the most profitable use of my training or my time, at least in my own opinion."}

Waverly heaved a deeply put-upon sigh, and then abruptly pushed a file across the table toward the politely waiting Mark Slate.

"However, be all that as it may, we still have to deal with that singles tour business. Here! That's your job now, Mr. Slate. Miss Dancer is already in position, will join the tour tomorrow before they leave Rome. You will join her when the group reaches Florence. You have no time to spare, so don't dilly-dally!

"Find out what is going on, between the two of you, and put a stop to it! If this is a independent operation, fine; if it is not, is part of something bigger, we will need all the information you can deliver. This just can NOT be allowed to continue!"

"Yes, sir. Is there any particular approach - - "

"Oh, for heaven's sake, young man!" Waverly snapped, that frown now intense. "Do you really need specific directions??! I certainly would not have at your age!! You see a young woman you find appealing, you approach her, and let nature take its course! A spring romance! At least, it should appear that way to anyone involved. Do NOT let the necessity for such an appearance to lead you to abandon your professionalism, needless to say, Mr. Slate."

The warning there was plain, just as was the lack of any real confidence that Mark could handle even the simple task he was being given.

It hadn't been particularly heartening to hear that slight twist Waverly put on the word 'professionalism', or to see the twist to his mouth as he said it, as if he wasn't quite sure it applied in Mark's case, but it had been more subtle than many of the Old Man's digs. 

Mark ignored it, as he ignored most of Waverly's pinpricks and arrows. He wanted his place here; if it took taking grit tossed into his eyes from Waverly on occasion, so be it. That had doubly, even more, been the case since he'd teamed up with April. Remaining her partner had been worth the flack.

He'd intended to ask Waverly about the best approach to the tour guide, not April, of course, but decided he'd wing it there if nothing in the file gave any strong indication otherwise. He wondered if April knew about the change in plans, but he mentally shrugged, knowing it was really irrelevant. April was a professional too; seeing him and not Illya would perhaps surprise her, but she'd shift with the change easily enough.

"And who is to be assigned as back-up?" knowing Napoleon had been assigned that duty before the Venice affair went haywire and landed both agents there on sick-leave.

Waverly glowered. "I have no one available. Indeed, I had intended Mr. Solo to observe only because Mr. Kuryakin and Miss Dancer are not accustomed to partnering with each other. Since you ARE Miss Dancer's usual partner, I see no need to involve another agent. Just do not fail, Mr. Slate!"

"No, sir, of course not," Mark answered respectfully, not a hint of his thoughts crossing his face. Just as well, of course, for his continued employment.


	4. On Tour

April was more than ready to get started with the job, but having the proper background, one this William Merrick, leader of the tour, would be able to check if he thought it necessary, was essential. If he got suspicious, didn't let her join the tour, the whole plan would go up in smoke. Mr. Waverly would NOT be pleased.

So she had arrived in Rome, checked into her hotel, let herself be seen; had been going about her merry way, visiting one attraction after the other, playing the part of independent tourist. She made sure to drop a hint here and there that she was finding the process increasingly less than satisfying. 

Now, seeing the green tour buses pull into the side lot, she smiled to herself. The tourists were to be here two nights. She'd find a way to cross their trail a few times, then approach this William with her request. She had funds readily at hand to make that request seem all the more palatable; if the information they had about the tour leader was correct, he would be not only accepting of such, he would probably be expecting it.

Her approach, when she made it, was a calmly confident one. Well, she hardly thought groveling or timidity would make the right impression; such a woman would hardly be traveling on her own, now would she? Now if he just accepted her explanation as to why she'd changed her mind about the independent route.

"I'd thought going about on my own would give me more flexibility, you see. But it is all becoming rather tiresome, having to make all the arrangements, trying to find the most agreeable but still affordable places to eat, to shop, not having anyone to talk over the events of the day and such. So when I saw your tour buses and how congenial your passengers seemed, it just seemed like such a lovely alternative!"

The lovely young woman made quite the impression on William, and, after he'd eagerly invited her to join the tour, graciously accepting the payment he'd suggested, Amber Larson made a similarly favorable impression on the other travelers. 

Well, how could it be otherwise? The auburn-haired woman had a ready smile, a soothing voice, and an extremely agreeable manner. She was well versed in the art of holding conversation, which not everyone was, and had a good scope of knowledge about the places they were to visit. Oh, not that she took over the tour guides prerogatives or dominated the conversation to impress; but she WAS someone the others could converse with intelligently on what they were seeing. 

Equally as important, she parceled out her attentions evenly, not ignoring anyone, even those perhaps less favored by nature or fortune. 

Marion, the assistant tour guide, was particularly entranced by the wardrobe Amber Larson brought with her; nothing wildly expensive, but all extremely attractive and quite fashionable. Considering they were approximately the same size, Marion spent many pleasant moments thinking of how SHE would look in those same outfits. She was sure she would even outshine the lovely Miss Larson.

All in all, everyone agreed - Amber Larson was a fine addition to this Spring Singles tour.

Florence - 

"Well, hello there. Is this seat taken? Might I perhaps join you?"

Amber glanced up with an inquiring look, making it seem as if she'd not noticed him before, so engrossed was she in that brochure she'd picked up at the gift shop. She wasn't all that surprised, of course; had seen the young man speaking with Marion earlier, saw William's assistant laugh and point in the direction of the buses awaiting departure from Florence. She'd barely blinked before smiling and nodding a polite agreement to the latter suggestion, offering her name.

"And you are?"

The blond Englishman introduced himself to her with an engaging smile. 

"Michael Barrows. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Larson."

"Oh, do call me Amber. There's hardly a need for formality, is there? Especially if we are to be traveling companions," her smile growing in warmth in response to his own engaging smile.

Soon, although they spent a great deal of time with one or other of their fellow tourists, somehow they also were spending more and more time together. 

It had not gone unnoticed, of course, but other than a little mild teasing about a 'spring romance' and one or two slightly more off-color comments from one of the men who'd tried and failed to gain Amber's exclusive company, everyone just accepted it as a natural and spontaneous attraction, nothing to be wondered at. 

Marion, William's assistant, had even enthused to her boss "imagine, him seeing her on one of our stops and being so attracted he decided to catch up with us and join the tour, just to meet her! How romantic!"

Bologna - 

Bologna was the next stop, and they roamed the Piazza Maggiore, visited the Fountain of Neptune just like the rest of the tourists, their rapport obviously growing by the hour.

Of course, in addition to seeing the sights and enjoying the local delicacies, they added in a little judicious snooping, which now had Mark and April convinced there was indeed mischief afoot, though the number of people involved was still unresolved in their minds.

"William and Marion, certainly. Jeffers and Dixon, that seems likely. But does it end there? Four deaths - well, two deaths, two others probable, if unconfirmed. That COULD have been accomplished by just those four, I suppose" Mark offered, "or even just two of the four."

"I don't get the feeling that William and Marion are in on THAT side of things, Mark. Oh, they're involved, possibly know at least somewhat of what is going on, but I think they are merely providing the venue, the cover, alibis as needed - in return for considerable payment, I would think . But I do agree Jeffers and Dixon are involved. Perhaps I might develop a slight headache by the end of the day, enough I'll regretfully bypass the ritual 'dining together' of the group."

Mark gave her a knowing grin. "Going to practice your cat burgler skills, luv? Best be careful; while everyone WILL be dining together, there's nothing to prevent someone from deciding to leave early, or just slip out for a bit. Do NOT get caught, April! Mr. Waverly will have me skinned and hung from the closest flag pole!"

"Oh, don't worry; I won't get caught. But I DO think it best we get a little more information on the others traveling with us, besides the official story, that is. And I'll make sure to pull my wan and fragile self down to the dining room in time for dessert and perhaps an after dinner coffee," she promised, much to his relief.

It was unlikely she'd be able to hit more than three, maybe four rooms with that time constraint, not if she did a thorough job, though she really would have preferred to get far more accomplished. But pushing it past that point, that was unacceptable and would cause her partner unneeded distress.

Well, there was no easy way for them to meet afterwards, not that would not be remarked upon, especially this early in their supposed acquaintance, not where she would feel free to give her partner her findings, and she knew Mark wouldn't rest until he knew she was out and safe. It would have been the same for her, of course, if HE'D been the one to go snooping.

So she'd taken on Jeffers' and Dixon's shared room first, and unearthed some very interesting items. But it was William's room that held the biggest treasure trove - a small notebook with the most helpful little list and some notes not nearly as vague or incomprehensible as he'd probably thought or intended. Whatever talents the man had, devising a clever code simply could NOT be included on the list, not if April could break and decipher it within ten minutes.

She rejoined the group in time for dessert, but skipped the coffee. She had a feeling she was going to need a good night's sleep for whatever the morrow might bring.

The two young people shared morning coffee and pastries before boarding the bus for Parma, the next stop. Their smiles were all for each other, their heads bent close together, and if the appearance of young love in bloom was what they were intending, they succeeded entirely. There had been no opportunity for April to report her findings the evening before, but now, she shared everything, what she'd found out, what she suspected.

Later, Mark leaned his head back against the seat and considered all she'd told him.

{"So, Jeffers and Dixon, yes - one the teacher, the other the student. Salazar and Miles, the same. Gertie Devon and Elizabeth Jones - now those two I'd never have guessed! Supposedly grandmother and granddaughter, but in actuality, again - one the teacher, the other the student. And is Gertie really as old as she appears, or is that a more than cunning disguise? Whoever would suspect a granny to be a skilled assassin? Of course, if Elizabeth is as young as she appears, no one would suspect her either! I would have taken her for no more than fifteen or sixteen at most!

"A school for assassins, using this tour, possibly others, for their 'examinations'. Probably taking 'special orders' too - enticing particular victims as well, what with those contests the poor souls supposedly won but according to their families and friends, didn't even remember entering. I wonder who stood to gain from their deaths? Whoever is behind this, they truly DO believe in killing two birds with one stone! Well, double the profit, most likely, too tempting to pass by."}

Parma - 

Parma gave them no new leads, though April watched in amazement as Mark sampled one new dish after the other, trying to savor whatever was available. And a great deal was available, it seemed.

"Yes, it's very good, I agree, Michael," she cautioned, keeping to their assumed identities, "but is that much ham and cheese really GOOD for one?"

He gave an unrepentent grin. "We are only here for two days, Amber, and I intend to sample every variation they offer. I have a Russian friend who assured me they are ALL well worth the effort. And surely that one dish isn't ALL you're going to have," having heard her modest order with incredulity. As for himself, he'd ordered an appetizer platter, a main dish, a side dish, and fully intended to try one, maybe two desserts after.

"I DO still have to fit into my wardrobe, you know, and I must admit, the local fondness for combining cinnamon and nutmeg with garlic is something I enjoy in quite limited quantities. Though if your appetizer looks particularly tempting, I might be willing to have just a taste," she laughed.

"By the way," Mark said, lowering his voice, though his smile never altered, "we are being watched. Marion, for one, though perhaps she's more interested in your wardrobe than in us. But the others, the ones you found noted, they are ALL keeping an eye on us."

"Yes, I noticed. Hopefully it is no more than with the rest of the lot, being fascinated by a sudden spring romance, though I doubt we're that lucky," April admitted. 

"This next stop, maybe I'll be the one to do a little snooping. Did you report in?" he asked, nodding eagerly to the waiter headed toward them with a tray held before him.

"Umm," April assured him. "I was left with no doubt that he is getting impatient with us; he seems to think we are stretching this out into a paid vacation."

His appetizer order came, truly a platter, not a plate, and April laughed with amusement. 

"Is that meant for one or a group, darling? I suppose I really AM obliged to help you finish that or you'll never have room for the rest of the meal!"

The waiter smiled in appreciation of her comment, and pointed out his primary recommendations from the oblong earthenware platter - the tortelli de erbette (pasta filled with ricotta and herbs, seasoned with butter and parmigiano reggiano), the stuffed mushrooms, and the Prosciutto de Parma accompanied by grapes and figs. Somehow, in the midst of their talking things over, by the time their main courses arrived, they'd managed to leave that appetizer platter as clean as if it had never held food at all.

Seeing the progress they had made, the waiter promptly brought Mark that heaping plate of pasta and chicken with a creamy sauce flavored with the Parmesan cheese the region was well known for, along with his selection for a side dish. 

Similar to the appetizer plate, the side dish was made up a number of distinct offerings, including marinated tomatoes and olives, tiny peas with onions and ham, small squares of pasta with roasted squash, and tiny rounds of something that seemed a cross between a dumpling and a cheese curd, among others.

Immediately April knew she had an obligation to help her partner with that as well, at least that huge side dish with the various compartments! What were partners for, after all, if not lending a helping hand when needed?

Accepting her own small plate of pasta with a sauce made from local mushrooms, giving a charming smile to the waiter, she had to admit, there was more than a little enjoyment being shared on this assignment, though they certainly were not delaying a resolution because of that. And no matter how much they were enjoying the side benefits of this job, she was rather eager to get things resolved before that suitcase no longer contained anything that fit properly! 

They accepted the glasses of wine they were offered; then, by mutual agreement, they focused on their meal. Mark was right about one thing; they were here, they might as well enjoy while they could. Including trying one of those desserts from the dessert tray, since that was one place she did enjoy cinnamon and nutmeg, along with chocolate. Now, would it be the chocolate torte with whipped cream or the spongata, or the Duchess' cake, or maybe the tortelli dolci filled with spiced chocolate? She wondered, ruefully, how much room there was on her waistbands for a bit of ease. {"Perhaps enough for TWO desserts, since Mark is clearly intending that for himself. Or maybe just one, and a spoonful of each of his?"}

Cremona - 

Cremona failed to give Mark his desired opportunity to do a little snooping. They were only there for the one night, and everyone tended to stick to their rooms, enjoying room service for a change, as firmly suggested by William and Marion. 

"Supposedly Milan will be more demanding, and they think everyone needs to be well rested. They suggest a quiet dinner in our rooms, an early night, then only moderate sightseeing in the morning. Do you think it would be TOO out of character for me to invite you to share dinner with me in my room, Mark? It might give us some privacy to regroup."

And while it did raise a few eyebrows, cause a few sly comments, they did exactly that. Oh, they were very careful, and, at second thought, just as a precaution, even made a last minute directing of the room service waiter to Mark's accommodations instead of hers, claiming that 'accidental' spilling of her perfume made her quarters unacceptable to his allergy-prone sensitivities.

When the door to Mark's room opened and a startled Marion fell all over herself at seeing them sitting there enjoying their meal, she apologized for the intrusion, claiming that she obviously had the wrong room. 

"Such a foolish mistake! I DO apologize! I just can't imagine - - - "

It was obvious she'd intended to do a little snooping while the Englishman was supposedly elsewhere. April just smiled, nodding politely to accept the apology and watched Marion scurry away, while Mark poured them another glass of wine. 

April didn't intend to dash back to her room in case anyone would be heading THERE now; there was nothing in her room to tell any story she'd be sorry about, and she'd check carefully for any additions that might be made in her absence. She'd even sacrificed that lovely bottle of perfume just to bear out her story.

However, Cremona DID provide them with proof that they had somehow aroused suspicion, not that they really needed any proof, not anymore. 

Oh, it was supposedly just some unthinking horseplay, but after taking the morning trip to the Torrazzo bell tower to take in the astronomical clock, they'd decided to enjoy the view before heading back down. They stood for a few minutes, making casual chit-chat, when a laughing group of young teenagers joustled against them. They were pushed toward the opening that overhung the ground far below, only prevented from falling by those 'helpful' hands of the same ones who'd bumped into them. Somehow those hands weren't as helpful as they were taunting, teasing, increasingly threatening.

April took a quick glance backwards, saw the looming space and resisted, though trying very hard not to cause any damage to the boys. She wasn't having all that much success, her struggles only seeming to excite the young louts. Sometimes it DID put one at a disadvantage, having such scruples, since you couldn't deal with civilians quite as firmly as you could a THRUSH operative!

Mark was a little more successful, perhaps because he wasn't trying all that hard to avoid inflicting damage. Anyone attempting to send them hurtling out into space didn't deserve all THAT much forebearance, not that he could see. Quickly latching onto the wrist of their apparent leader in an unbreakable grip, twisting it sharply, he hissed in excellent Italian, "if we go over, so do you. You might want to reconsider!"

A quickly uttered phrase from the startled leader had the group shifting gears immediately. Mark and April were quickly pulled back from the opening by several of the boys.

There was a joking comment by the leader, trying to display his usual bravado in front of his companions despite being wide-eyed and shocked at how quickly it had gone awry from their efforts.

"You turista, so careless! You must be more careful before you get hurt!".

Still, there was too much sly knowing in the boys' eyes for the agents' comfort. Mark wondered how much they'd been paid to arrange that little near-accident, along with wondering if it had truly intended to BE a NEAR-fatal accident, not a fatal accident in actuality,

They passed the event off as something fairly trivial when they met up with the others. It would hardly do to NOT make some mention of something so frought with potential danger, would only arouse further suspicions in whoever had, as the pair thought most likely, arranged that little encounter.

But they made sure to make no mention of serious intent on the part of their attackers, just 'foolish and far too thoughtless boys making a show of themselves and getting carried away'. If there was a hint of disappointment on anyone's face at their reappearance, it wasn't apparent enough for them to pick it out.


	5. Milan, Part 1

Milan was only minutes away when their tour leader made an unexpected announcement.

There was to be a superb treat in store for them, William told everyone, one added as a surprise by the tour owners. 

"Not just a fine hotel, but the very best of hotels! And you will pay no extra, no, no, absolutely not! It is a special treat, and the evening meal and entertainment as well, for BOTH nights! We ask nothing but that you enjoy your stay!"

Mark gave a questioning glance at April; somehow very expensive treats seemed quite out of character for a tour of this nature.

He leaned in, whispered in her ear, "the game's afoot, I believe, Watson."

She gurgled back at him, as if he'd said something delightfully flirtatious. "Oh, you charmer, you!"

They each received a small slip of paper as they prepared to disembark - the address for their 'event for the evening'. April really wished there was time to chat with the others, see where THEY were going, since William had said the groups to be sent to each location would be small, no more than six or eight. Still, she and Mark were being sent to the same place; a quick glance at those slips assured them of that.

Mark looked around as they poured off the bus. He'd doubted William's protestation about 'the very BEST hotel!', but it seemed the conniver had told the truth in this instance. This was indeed the best in town, over-the-top lavish. Something very special must be prompting this change of schedule; he knew he and his partner had to figure out just what, and before any more bodies started piling up.

Trying to keep an eye on William and the others, he blinked in surprise. He'd wondered, at first, if he'd been mistaken - if the man just entering the elevator across the lobby was someone who just superficially resembled the man he'd shared an adventure with a few months ago. But no, there couldn't be mistaking that wry smile or the distinct laugh being directed at the taller sandy-haired man he was with.

Danny Wilde - they had met in Singapore, gotten involved in the same odd affair. They'd even blown up a yacht together, swam through the dark and threatening sea to safety together. Something like that, it formed a bond of sorts. Mark made a mental note to tell April about that little affair the next time they had some downtime, but in the meanwhile, he was careful to read the register, upside down, to note which room number the man had been given. No, he didn't know just why, it just seemed the prudent thing to do. 

{"Daniel Wilde and Lord Brett Sinclair, sharing a suite. Hmmm. I know Danny is game for some heavy action of the more dire kind, and from what I've heard, so is His Lordship on occasion. Yes, that might come in handy."}. 

And before long, he knew he'd been right. 

Mark showed up at April's door at the appointed time. "Ready, Amber? I must say this does sound intriguing - a local cafe, favored by the locals - music and food and drink we would not find in the more touristy areas. I wonder who else will be in our group?"

Well might he have asked! 

Music sounded from inside the small establishment, light filtering through the wooden shutters, the sound of happy voices echoing, obviously enjoying themselves thoroughly. They pushed open the door and stepped inside to find themselves faced with smug looks from the four men who greeted them inside the brightly lit but otherwise empty cafe, cudgels and guns in their hands. A phonograph in the corner showed them the source of the merriment they'd heard from outside, a source that wasn't even silenced when the first goon slammed into it, propelled by Mark's fist.

It was a quick rough and tumble affair, one in which they got the better of their opponents, but both Mark and April paid a price. As they surveyed the four men now laying on the floor, music and loud conversation incongruously still flowing from the box in the corner, they took a good look at each other. 

Mark was clasping his shoulder, a bullet having done a through-and-through there, and wiping the blood from a gash across one temple. April was never going to wear THAT pretty outfit again, obviously, between the blood from Mark's wound and the missing sleeve and ripped collar. More to the point, while her nose wasn't broken, she was due for a black eye eventually, that was easy to see. 

What was just as easy to see was April's eyes weren't focusing all that well; Mark was pretty sure she had a concussion, and she ruefully agreed.

"But that has to be dealt with later, Mark. Where do we go from here? We don't have a local office here we could call on for help," she reminded him. "And William isn't going to welcome us back; he thinks we're dead, I'm quite sure. And we STILL don't know what that last duo has planned!"

He thought carefully and nodded, grateful for his keen instincts that had urging him to take a good look at that hotel register. 

"I know someone, back at the hotel; I think he'll be willing to lend a hand. Come along, luv; let's get you someplace safer than this. I don't quite think you're up to making it back to the hotel, not quickly anyway."

She wanted to argue, but he was right. 

"The question is, Mark, are YOU up to making it back to the hotel?"

"Looks like I have to be; that's where he is, you see, the one I think will help. His name - " 

Obviously he'd received some damage as well, maybe more than he thought, since he could hear him repeating himself. But whatever he had incurred, it seemed perhaps less than what his partner had endured, he thought guiltily.

He stopped talking. April's eyes were starting to drift shut and he realized there was no time for explanations. First, he'd see her tucked away somewhere; then he'd go fetch help. Putting one arm around her waist, he got them out the rear door and searched for someplace dry and somewhere sheltered; somewhere she'd not likely to be discovered before he returned.

Once he had April settled, he made his faltering way back to the lavish hotel where their rooms, and their luggage, AND their enemies (at least some of them) were. It wasn't easy, but he managed, and once there, not going anywhere near their own rooms, painstakingly made his way to where he could access that balcony outside the room where he hoped he would be welcomed. 

He made it to the balcony, but then his strength gave out, no matter how strong his determination and resolve. Well, blood loss and shock could do that.

He'd just picked the lock, opened the French doors, opened his mouth to speak, then fell flat on his face. {"That's right, Slate! Hope Danny Wilde is more forgiving than Waverly would be at THAT bit of bad timing!"} he thought as the room, the two startled men in bathrobes it held, all disappeared into the distance.

On the Sinclair/Wilde side of affairs, Danny had wondered about those green tour buses pulled up outside their snazzy hotel in Milan, all those people piling off, looking somewhat weary and bedraggled. Definitely not a luxury class tour, not with the amount of off-the-rack ready-to-wear being displayed, nor the amount of mouldering woolens - more aspiring middle class mixed with a few decaying gentry, if he was reading them right. 

He shuddered at wearing any of what was being displayed, and was pretty sure Brett would set his hair on fire first. Their taste in fashion might be wildly different, pun fully intended, but they rarely had to resort to anything like that! Well, at times they wore whatever they could get their hands on, of course. Like when they'd been almost blown up, or kidnapped and tossed into a decaying barn, or any number of other situations, but certainly they never wore off-the-rack by CHOICE! Although those woolens DID put him in mind of some of Brett's relatives, mouldering state and all.

Maybe the driver was lost, he thought vaguely to himself - vaguely, since he was still more or less focused on Brett and everything still unsettled between them. Still, it didn't seem reasonable, that group showing up there. After all, that hotel was the most luxurious, most expensive in the whole city, and while he and Brett could easily afford it, he figured it was way out of range for the average roaming shutter-bug traveling around in big green buses. 

The thought crossed his mind that either someone had made a big mistake in figuring the conversion rate or reading the price guide, or maybe the tour bus guide had insurance policies taken out on his group with himself as the beneficiary.

{"Some of them are gonna keel over with a heart attack when it's time for check-out, when they see what the bill comes up to. Or maybe he just has a death wish. Wouldn't be surprised if someone didn't end up pulling the plug on him when they figure out they're gonna have to hock everything they own to pay the room charges! Talk about checking out, for real!"}. 

Still, by the time they'd gotten to their room, he'd forgotten all about that swarm of gaping tourists they'd seen heading, more than a little dazed, toward the registration desk. Neither he nor Brett had time or energy to deal with misdirected tourists; they were too busy dealing with that damned canary called Fate.

Eventually, though, the canary at least temporarily pacified, they were sated in one respect and contemplating the Room Service Menu to sate a different aspect of their needs.

But then, another issue forced its way to the forefront. 

It started with that dead, or at least dying duck, who staggered in through the French doors leading to the balcony and collapsed in a bloody heap at their feet. So, okay, we are exaggerating - the duck was not dying, but certainly missing a few feathers, sporting a perforated wing, among other immediately apparent injuries. Talk about a mood spoiler, especially since they hadn't even ordered dinner yet!

"So, you know him?" Sinclair asked as he leaned over, watching Danny press a towel to the upper seeping shoulder wound of the unconscious blond now residing on one of the two couches, the exit wound already having been firmly padded. Well, that was obvious, since Danny's emphasis had been, was still on first aid, not on calling hotel management to complain about the intrusion as probably would have been the case otherwise.

"What? Oh, yeah. Hand me another towel, okay? Name's Mark Slate. Ran into him in Singapore a few months ago. Man, was that a blast! I mean, really - a blast! A car, a hotel room, even a yacht went kaboom before it was all over. Some hot shot secret agent type; he's one of yours, Your Lordship."

Sinclair's brows lifted, "Mine? MI5? MI6? One of the other assorted varieties? DO tell me we haven't stumbled into one of those yours versus mine affairs again! You know how tiresome those are!"

Especially when anyone involved, sometimes EVERYONE involved, tried to get the two of THEM involved, but on opposite sides! It had happened before, and they'd narrowly escaped having it ruin their friendship. They'd come to terms, swore not to let any such nonsense get between them again, but such happenings tended to make things difficult. 

They both WERE loyal to their own countries, after all; they had just realized loyalty to one's country didn't necessarily mean being loyal to the various alphabet agencies each country fielded. Even more so since the various agencies from the same country were frequently at odds with each OTHER in their goals, aims, guidelines, scruples, etc, enough that deciding which side was right was pretty much a crap shoot.

"Nah, I just meant he's English. He's not THAT kinda secret agent. He's with - well, you've heard of the U.N.C.L.E., right? UNCLE?? He's with them. Wonder where his partner is - she's usually not too far away, from what I hear," Danny said, casting a worried look at the balcony doors the now-unconscious man had entered through. 

"If she does show up, better keep your fingers to yourself, Your Lordship. According to Slate, she's gorgeous, a real live wire, but she's got some fierce moves. You think you just can't resist, you might remember - I've got some pretty fierce moves myself. Maybe not the same kind, but I bet I can learn some of those if I need to. Just lettin' you know."

In the end, it was the agent regaining consciousness, recognizing Danny Wilde, and whispering the location of his partner, asking for their help on her behalf, that led the two to retrieving the second of the battered UNCLE agents, leaving Mark Slate holed up in their hotel room, groggy but capable, with a pistol readily at hand.

Finding her had been easy enough; convincing her to trust them, not so much. But mentioning her partner, giving her a few details, that did the trick, and soon they were sneaking the auburn-haired woman in through the kitchen entrance of the hotel and up to their room.

"So, how did they tumble to you?" Sinclair asked after handing April Dancer a towel and one of the guest robes around the corner. 

("Administering first aid to a couple of UNCLE agents, one with a bullet wound and various other injuries, another one with more than a few bruises and probably a concussion. Not exactly how I'd envisioned spending the remainder of the night,"} Sinclair admitted ruefully.

The young woman shook her head wearily, although Sinclair wasn't within viewing range. She'd barely regained consciousness when the two strangers had arrived, insisting they'd come to retrieve her at the urgent request by her partner. 

She hadn't been sure to trust them, but Mark had given them instructions to call her 'April Showers' and have them ask for an invitation to her Halloween party, so she'd allowed them to bundle her up and head to where they supposedly had stashed Mark. Not that she was in any condition to refuse, really, since just standing had been difficult at that point, but she would have made a valiant attempt. Now, a doctor come and gone, her with pills to lessen the pounding in her temples, she replied.

"We're not sure. But the tour guide, William, handed us an address before we got off the bus. Well, not just us - everyone. That's the routine, you see. Usually, when you have a free half-day, you go, do whatever you want, but you check in with him when you get back to the hotel; he hands out the schedule for the evening and the next day. This time it seemed the activities were to start immediately, or nearly so, soon after we arrived anyway, though not everyone was being directed to the same place. As he explained, there were various little hidden spots just ideal for six or eight that just couldn't accommodate the entire group, or even half.

"There was no time to casually compare notes to see who was being directed where. We got to the place we'd been sent, supposedly a lovely little drinking and dining establishment hidden away from the 'ordinary tourists', and they were waiting for us. They weren't just amateur muggers, I can assure you of that, though perhaps not professionals as such. We were outnumbered; we got away, by the skin of our teeth, but obviously it was a trap. They know us for adversaries, though whether they know specifically who we are and who we represent, I really couldn't say."

Her voice was raised to carry into the next room, though she soon followed, enveloped in that heavy terrycloth robe, white towel wrapped around her head. 

Brett acknowledged to himself that April Dancer really was lovely, even with the bruises, that evidence of an incipent black eye. This was a lady unlike most he encountered. A warning cough from his own partner brought him back to reality, away from speculation, along with the questioning, also slightly warning look being given him by Mark Slate.

Her partner, if not totally at ease (and how could he be?), was far more so now that April was here, safe if not particularly sound, nodded from where he was propped up on the sofa, nursing his bandaged arm gingerly. Taking a sip of the whiskey that he'd been handed, he put in his own two cents worth.

"So it's obvious there IS something wonky about the tour, just as we were told, but we still don't know what is supposed to happen next, why, to what purpose, no more than what we found out snooping through some of the rooms. We joined the group a few days ago, let the others gossip to us about the others, including a Swiss couple who had a 'tragic accident' and two others who just vanished, but other than some bed-hopping, a little buying of illicit substances from unsavory characters in a few dark alleyways, one purchase from a dealer in fake antiquities, nothing that stood out. We THINK, through process of elimination, the next 'test' will involve Gertie Dixon and her supposed granddaughter, Elizabeth Jones, but that is supposition only."

He flushed, "sorry about dropping in on you like this, but I saw you and Lord Sinclair in the lobby, saw your name in the register earlier, Danny. After Singapore, I thought you might be enough in our corner to at least get April clear, and perhaps get word out to our superior." He groaned, "and won't he have a few words to say about me bolloxing things up like this!"

"Mark, this had nothing to do with you," April Dancer scolded gently. "We played it just as we were told to."

"I know, luv, but you know the Old Man. He'll preach on and on about how if we had all just done it the way he wanted in the first place, you joining the tour with Illya instead of me, or even Napoleon . . ."

"Yes, well, Illya's sprained ankle and concussion put paid to that idea, and Napoleon's not exactly the 'Spring Singles Tour' type, now is he? Not to mention that vile whatever-it-is he got pulling Illya out of the canals. They probably wouldn't have allowed him ON the tour, not the way he was sneezing and coughing all over the place," she reminded her partner. 

Frankly, she wouldn't have been all that excited about teaming up with the honking, sniffling, sneezing senior agent either, not after she'd heard him on the telephone giving her an update, and she was quite sure Napoleon hadn't been all that excited about the prospect of leaving Illya before his partner was deemed safe to leave alone either.

"Mr. Waverly isn't going to be pleased, though," she admitted to the three men. "And even if we could disguise our injuries, perhaps come up with an explanation to pacify the other passengers, William has every reason to think we're dead, after all! And how on earth would we explain us escaping his men; they WERE quite determined, after all."

A few phone calls, a few favors called in, a serious discussion between two professionals and two semi-professionals, and the two battered UNCLE agents were securely tucked into what had been Lord Sinclair and Danny Wilde's luxurious suite. Now the registration read something quite different.

"Mr. Waverly was not pleased. Well, I have to say I'm not overly pleased myself," April sighed after she'd signed off and closed the communicator, wincing at the shrill sound the instrument made AND the echoing bark in their superior's voice. Well, they BOTH made her head ache even more than it had before. It might have made more sense in a way to have Mark do the reporting in to Waverly, but they both knew their leader's negative reaction would have been doubled at least, and she didn't feel Mark needed that added stress considering it would not have helped their situation any.

"No, I expect not. I'm not totally cheery about the whole matter myself, not with you getting all banged up, luv," Mark commented, getting a chiding, if faintly amused, look in return at that one-sided appraisal.

"Me, darling? I'm not the one with a bullet hole in me, partner-mine."

Yes, well, he had to admit, that bullet had done enough damage to his shoulder that he wouldn't be playing cricket anytime soon, not that he was actively playing on a team at the moment anyway. At least he was a decent marksman with a pistol, with either hand, so that helped make him feel not totally useless. Still, he shuddered to think of what Waverly would say when April showed up with that black eye!

Now, thinking about their replacements on the field of battle, she expressed more than a little skepticism.

"Do you think they'll pull it off? It seems totally unbelievable to me, and these people aren't stupid, you know. I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't our both joining mid-tour, even if it was at different stops, that made them suspicious; it's hardly the usual thing. They are doing much the same.

"And really! I mean, THOSE two??! Rich, dashing, and all that goes with the description! It's not as if they aren't fairly well known; they get enough publicity at various times for various of their activities. Why on earth would THEY be joining a Spring Singles bus tour, Mark?"

"Oh, THEY won't be; I believe they have something else in mind," Mark grinned in delight at what had been explained to him. 

When he told April all that lay in store, at first she'd just looked at him in shock. Then, as the picture unfolded, an uncharacteristic giggle broke out, and ended with her collapsing beside him on the couch laughing uncontrollably.

"Oh, what I would GIVE to see that!"

"I can't promise you that, unfortunately. I didn't even get a glimpse. They have moved to a different suite, discreetly, registered under their new names. They left here, intended to enter as who they ARE, supposedly just dropping in to say hello and goodbye to loved ones met purely by chance, and will only emerge under their new identities. Since we can't let ourselves be seen until the tour is long gone, if then, any interaction would be inadvisable, I've been told most firmly. 

"The good news is, April, is that we are now registered as Martin and Annabelle Lewis, thanks to Lord Sinclair's old friend who manages this very lush place. We're not likely to be seen by anyone, including the staff who have been given strict orders not to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Lewis who are enjoying the start of their honeymoon and will emerge only when their initial and totally understandable inclination for privacy is sated. Towels, linens, trays, fresh clothing, and anything else we need will be left in that cunning pass-through over there; no physical or visual contact required. We are just to call down to Room Service for whatever we need, or leave the written order in the pass-through; someone will check periodically. The doctor will return the same discreet way as he did before, and I've been told he is quite reliable.

"AND, to complete the arrangements, the tariff for the suite and Room Service is being covered by Lord Sinclair for however long as we need to stay. At least we won't have the Old Man cutting up rough over our expense accounts this time. With what this place must charge, it would probably be worth our lives if we submitted the total, you know."

April had to admit not having to face that expense report WAS a plus. As for the rest . . .

"Speaking of Room Service, darling, is there a menu around here? I think I might be regaining my appetite, at least a little. And I wouldn't mind another run at the aspirin bottle, or whatever the doctor left instead."


	6. Milan, Part II

And, the next morning, it was discovered the tour was, once again, down two members. William gave a shrug while delivering the news, but accompanied it with a ruefully knowing look, letting his pauses tell a story of its own.

The passengers, far from being concerned that this would be the fifth and sixth who had departed the tour (in one manner or another), were chattering and tittering about that 'lovely young woman and that adorable young Englishman who obviously have found a better way to spend their time. Ah, to be young and reckless and so prone to sudden passionate impulses!''

Milan, from a different viewpoint -

At much the same time, our pair of adventurers found themselves seeking and obtaining admission to a 'Spring Singles Tour'. 

Well, no, they didn't, really. In actuality, their aunts did - Sophie Wilde and Lady Agatha Sinclair. 

It was necessary, after all. It wasn't as if Lord Brett Sinclair and Danny Wilde were any more the Spring Singles Tour type than the debonnaire Napoleon Solo would have been. Of course, the real Sophie Wilde and Lady Agatha Sinclair weren't really the type either, either of them, but the impersonation being given by the two nephews came close enough. If you didn't look too closely, that is.

William, the tour guide, wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten so lucky, but in Milan he had picked up two new pigeons, ah, correction, two new tourists, in his little caravan of buses. 

He did have the extra seats. The final exam for Student D had gone well, although not for the two Swiss travelers who'd ended up under that train in Palermo. Then, what with that interim test of 2nd Level Student M in Catanzaro having subtracted the two French members of the tour, and his own suspicions having prompted him to 'remove' the American girl and that Englishman only the day before, he had several vacancies. 

No, he didn't mind the empty seats so much. After all, none of those six were going to be asking for a refund, so his take of the operation was still the same, and the ones who operated this little venture weren't ones to quibble about such things, had even given him leave to do whatever he wanted with the luggage and other possessions of the unfortunate six. 

Other than the odd items the 'students' had judiciously appropriated, of course. He didn't know what was so important about those items, but both had insisted their 'teachers' had specifically wanted them to bring them back when they returned after their tests were successfully completed. He didn't really care; the other possessions, while not of great value, did bring a nice little addition to the pocket, even on the resale market. "Every little bit does help, as they say!"

The gracious offer from the two new tourists to pay cash rather than by bank cheque payable to the tour company was just as graciously accepted by William, especially since the two ladies didn't even blink an eye when he'd quoted them a rate well above the usual, especially for a tour already half completed. Obviously they had more money than was good for them, since they'd already paid in advance for the tour they'd just left so abruptly and it was unlikely they'd been given a refund. He decided, with a great deal of smug self-congratulations, he was probably doing them a favor, not making them go to the effort of dealing with banks and all that. He knew they were certainly doing HIM a favor.

No, they had been thrilled to hand over the fare, had been even more thrilled to be joining his congenial little group. They assured him it had to be FAR superior to the tour they'd previously been on, the one they'd left so precipitously.

Well, to hear them tell it, they really had no other CHOICE but to leave. Lady Agatha seemingly had taken quite a dislike to the guide, Ricardo, who kept "making personal advances to us, you see! Most distasteful!" Her companion hadn't seemed all that indignant, but she didn't dispute the matter, just rolled her eyes at Lady Agatha's aggrieved description, being too busy applying a new coat of lipstick to comment.

Frankly William had doubted that, the 'making advances' part, anyway, both ladies seeming a little long in the tooth to be getting advances from someone like Ricardo. He KNEW Ricardo, the man was in his early thirties, though looking much younger, and already quite busy with the far younger females in his care if his track record held. What it would have taken to engage his interest with THIS pair, William just couldn't imagine. Well, other than money, of course, and even then Ricardo drew quite a firm line as to what he was willing to do for mere money.

And what Lady Agatha and her companion had been doing on a 'Young Singles Party Tour of Italy and France' (that being the only sort Ricardo deigned to be involved in) in the first place boggled the mind. He'd run a few of those, back before he got into this special gig, and the average age of the females was around twenty-five or thirty, though he had run into one or two with much younger participants. That summer tour of college girls had him ready to go up with the window shades, as the saying went, and was the final straw in his decision to go with something less exhausting in the future.

So, now, his current operation, okay, it was a 'Singles' tour as well, but the average age was higher than what he'd had to deal with previously, mostly because of that neat twist his employer had come up with. Well, there were not many teenage wannabe assassins out there, or at least he hoped not.

Frankly, he found this operation, unconventional though it might be in some regards, was a little less harrowing to his nerves. Aside from those 'students' and their 'teachers' and those 'tests', of course, and they really weren't any trouble, mostly dealing with their own activities without needing much of anything from him. All he had to do was come up with explanations for the others after the fact, provide an alibi if needed, and no one had challenged him yet. 

The tourists hadn't even questioned why they were so lucky as to be spending a couple of nights at that ritzy hotel instead of the smaller, far less expensive ones they usually did. Well, they hadn't questioned once he'd assured them THEY would only be paying their usual fare for the luxurious lodging, and even their shared breakfast was included in that price, just as had been every other place they'd stopped for the night, as well as the evening events.

He wondered a little, just why his employers had insisted on the stop, had arranged for the necessary funding. Oh, yes, spending two nights there while one of the 'teachers' and Student J did a little work was the explanation, but that hardly told him anything. Still, if he kept his eyes and ears open, he might get a clue; it was bound to be interesting, if nothing else. He had once had the vague notion of a little discreet blackmail in the future, though regretfully he admitted with this lot of 'teachers' and their employer, whoever that might be, it would probably not be too smart. He was still doing alright by his accounts.

No, this job of managing the slightly older group (in certain instances, the considerably older group) suited him better than his previous job, though it wasn't perfect by any means, since certain assumptions he'd made had proved to be quite mistaken.

He was a little disappointed, particularly in the beginning, to find the shennanigans of his passengers were only somewhat diminished, not nearly as much as he'd anticipated. Still, it was manageable and he quickly got used to the new routine, knew to rest up in between tours and take vitamins every day. That usually did the trick, and he had no real complaints.

No, while there was still considerable bedhopping going on among his charges, it wasn't particularly troublesome. And as far as his OWN bedhopping, it was more lucrative, with the recipients of his attentions, male or female, not only being in possession of a fatter pocketbook, but more willing to show their appreciation by handing over a portion of those contents. The fair young things of his former job seemed to think a sample of their overheated flesh was payment enough. As if!

He'd quickly realized it still came down to the basics, no matter what the age - individuals out of sight of family and neighbors, thinking to make themselves a little too free with the liquor, the food, the service persons male and female, their fellow passengers' possessions, even their fellow passengers themselves at times! 

Ah well, human nature was human nature, whatever the age, he supposed.

And speaking of human nature, while he had no interest in his passenger's persons despite his pretense otherwise when it was to his advantage, was too inured to the presence of the liquor or the food to be tempted, and was extremely cautious only to remove any possessions in a manner the owner (well, those still breathing) would assume had somehow been lost, still, he had no objection whatsoever to bringing in an extra bit of income. So, when the opportunity came to add these two ladies to his group, he grasped it joyfully.

It was his opinion the party underwriting this little adventure need never know about those additional funds since neither those 'teachers' or 'students' seemed interested in his activities. Although he was paid a reasonable amount especially considering the perks, he was certainly never going to get rich off this operation, no matter he was taking a considerable risk. After all, no matter HOW clueless the authorities might be, sooner or later they MUST notice how his tours ended up 'losing' a few individuals most trips out, and once that happened, he'd be looking for a new job, having to build a new identity, and all that would take money!

It only seemed fair to him that Fate should offer him a bit of a bonus now and again, and apparently Fate agreed, with the unexpected advent of Ms. Wilde and Lady Agatha Sinclair. He couldn't see this pair offering him any difficulties. An occasional headache, perhaps, between the perfume and the chattering, but nothing beyond that. No, Ms. Wilde and Lady Agatha would be no problem whatsoever.

He pictured them in his mind, shaking his head in amusement at how two such dissimilar women could be close friends, traveling companions, in the first place. The odd notion he kept picking up on, that they were something more intimate, well, that seemed even more bizarre to him, and he decided it was just a figment of his overactive imagination. Still, he rather hoped it was true, since that would mean neither of them would be expecting any advances from HIM. Well, he couldn't see Lady Agatha expecting anything of the sort in any case, but Ms. Wilde might be a different story entirely!

Sophie Wilde, (Sophie Esmeralda Wilde Cohen Epstein Wilde Ferguson Meredith Wilde Johansen Wilde - there were a few other names sprinkled in there, but too many to keep track of for the casual listener), was a tallish flamboyant American woman, maybe 5'9" or so, given to broad theatrical gestures and expensive, if slightly out-of-date, clothing, usually adorned with a dark fur scarf that bore a fox's head complete with toothy grin and glittering eyes. Actually, both Ms Wilde AND the fox wore a very SIMILAR grin and similar expression, which could provide disconcerting if their heads were quite close together, as they frequently were. William had the uncomfortable feeling both would bite, if they thought it necessary. {"Possiby just because they were in the mood to!"}

Her companion, Lady Agatha Sinclair, was an even taller robust English woman, rather prim, downturned mouth, with thin wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her prominent nose. She seemed to prefer tweeds and woolens, in multiple layers, and had a saying for every occasion, along with a home remedy for every ailment. William was pretty sure some of those remedies would have far worse consequences than the ailment itself, and determined never to hazard his health on anything of the sort, certainly not on the recommendation of Lady Agatha.

Sophie engaged everyone in conversation and had more stories - exciting, amusing, risque, even scandalous - of her time in Vaudeville and other perhaps less respectible venues than that long-ago one-woman Broadway show that she kept referring to. No one could say Sophie was shy or retiring. Some women might have demurred at describing drinking champagne cocktails and bootlegged whiskey while dancing nearly-naked at the Governor's Mansion, but not Sophie Wilde. She even coyly spoke of spending a weekend at a place called Rovington House as one of the 'hostesses'.

"On a dare, of course. But it went swimmingly; the delightful lady who ran the house even gave me an open invitation to return any time I wanted. Of course, " she admitted, "that has been a few years ago, when dear, DEAR Thomas was Governor. Such a delightful man, though very careful to keep to strict propriety where the newspapers might see, of course. But Rovington House was far too diligent to ever allow the press inside, and most of those who visited arrived in vehicles with tinted windows and flaps over the license plates to ensure no one could do any intrusive snooping that way."

Lady Agatha was a different sort of bird, eccentric surely, but seemingly the soul of upper class propriety, though how that could have been considering her traveling companion was anyone's guess.

She was quite hard of hearing but did not let that stop her from taking part in any conversation she elected to join. The results were amusing to some, annoying to others, since the two parts of the conversation meshed - or didn't mesh - to an extraordinary degree, resulting in a remarkable degree of confusion all around. Mr. Wilhamton described it as watching two avid opponents engaged in eager and enthusiastic competition on the same court, but with one playing cricket, the other wielding a ping pong paddle. Personally, he advised staying out of range, having been slammed by a flying participial phrase or three, which had stunned his mind for an uncomfortable period of time.

"How the hell do they stand wearing these things?" Danny swore softly as he tugged his tight foundation garment into place. He'd already put on a camisole sort of thing, stuffing socks into the right places to give him a base for the rest. He had extra socks laid out on the chair that he needed to round out the top to provide him with some greater semblance of a bosom, but now searched in vain for the appropriate places to stuff them. That was frustrating enough, not to mention how rumpled that camisole had gotten in the attempt to pull the foundation piece up into the right position.

"Perhaps if you tried it right side up, Daniel," Brett suggested with a superior sort of smile. "Unless you are trying for a hermaphroditic sort of look, in which case you will stand out as being both overly-and-underly endowed, as well as being somewhat malformed."

Danny looked down at the two cups now hanging in front of each thigh, very high up, and groaned. It had taken a hell of a lot of energy getting into that damned thing, now he was gonna have to get it back off and start all over again!!! 

"Glad to see YOU didn't have any trouble, Your Lordship. Experience counts, I suppose," he snarked, indignant at seeing Brett all neat and tidy in a one-piece lace-up lined with steel ribs that hugged his rugged body into a shape nature had never intended.

"Not at all, Daniel. I simply have a high degree of aptitude for judging and matching shapes and spaces. I first discovered that aptitude when I was thirteen, and my older cousin Rupert visited and brought his best friend Algernon and Algernon's two sisters, Mary and Elizabeth. 

"Mary and Elizabeth were conjoined Siamese twins, or they had been, though successfully separated at an early age. However, they could not bear to be apart, indeed remained shoulder to shoulder whenever possible, as if that surgery had never taken place. I was home between terms. Rupert and Algernon kept themselves busy with the grouse and other activities, leaving Mary and Elizabeth to fend for themselves, with my able assistance. 

"It was on one long afternoon that the agreeable opportunity came for observing, then experimenting with, compatible shapes and spaces. Ah, the lessons we learn early in life can be most meaningful, Daniel. I have never forgotten that particular one."

Danny shook his head at another one of Sinclair's family stories; he never knew whether to believe what he was told or not, but he had to admit it was usually interesting. 

"Never thought of it as an aptitude, Your Lordship, more like an instinct. Anything ELSE I need to know about that 'meaningful lesson', like . . . ". 

He paused briefly - there was a difference between cheerfully offering some mild insults and going to where the insults weren't so mild and could cause real offense, not the feigned sort they were accustomed to using with each other. So that left out asking a few other interesting things, unless he worded it real careful. 

He was saved from that potential land mine by a brisk knock on the door. 

"Breakfast in fifteen, ladies. Mustn't be late and miss the opportunity for getting better acquainted before we leave," came the trilling, overly-affected voice of the tour director's assistant, Marion. 

Sinclair wasn't sure where Marion originally came from, but he thought perhaps Upper Shropshire. The remains of that regional accent blended oddly with the Central European accent she tried to use, though making it easy for 'Lady Agatha' to 'misunderstand' what Marion was saying. It added a lively splash of color to the whole role, Brett thought, not that this whole affair needed any additional color, at least to his mind - it had already become rather rainbow-hued. Still, if one were obliged to perform in theatricals, one should do one's best to be memorable, he supposed.

Danny thought Brett was enjoying playing his oddball aunt, Lady Agatha, far more than he should have, though he had to admit his own characterization of HIS Aunt Sophie had its amusing points too. He wondered if he remembered all the words to 'Some Of These Days', one of Aunt Sophie's most flamboyant renditions.

"Coming in just a few, dear girl, though I really don't know that we are so eager to inspect such places. Velveteen is not quite the fashion back home, you see, so I don't much fancy visiting a shop of just that, especially if it's misting as you say. And if you've seen one aqueduct tainted with leaves, I am sure you've seen them all. I would really prefer to search out some breakfast, if you don't mind. 

"But we won't be long in any case - it is just that Sophie is having a little difficulty with her one-piece, you see. I warned her those creme cakes would catch up with her!" Brett responded in a voice that made Danny want to bark with laughter. Well, not the voice, so much as the expression on Sinclair's face, one Danny remembered as being a dead match for Agatha Sinclair's.

Brett had his Aunt Agatha's voice down pat, right along with her facial expressions; obviously this wasn't the first time he'd tried that impersonation. Somehow, that made Danny's comment about the old-fashioned foundation garment all the more apropos.

Focusing on his OWN garment, Danny wrenched it off and back on in a show of strength and determination, leaving himself slightly red in the face and out of breath, but at least with appropriate places to stuff the rest of those socks.

"We lucked out with your knowing the manager here," he offered as he hurried to pull on the garments Reggie Brandonmoore had obtained for them from a source probably best left unknown. Brett's friend had done an admirable job. The pert wig was even a fairly decent match to how his own Aunt Sophie wore her hair. 

"Oh, quite. And even more so that he has a good eye for sizes and styles. Quite the fellow for a hearty panto back at University, you know; handled the costuming, and could carry off wearing a hoop skirt better than any I'd ever seen. Although I'm not sure but that skirt he obtained for you is a little short for a woman of your age, my dear. Should you really be showing that much leg?" Brett quizzed while sedately patting his own wrap-and-chignon styled grey wig into place, getting an indignant look in return.

"At least my legs are worth showing off; lucky your friend got you something a little longer," looking at the kilt-like construct that brushed the tops of Agatha's old fashioned shoes. "Don't want to strike anyone blind with a good look at YOURS, Your Ladyship!"

Actually, Danny thought Brett's legs were just fine, just not meant for a skirt that reached two inches above the knees like Danny's own navy silk pleated one did. The opaque navy silk stockings were a nice touch as well, going well with the rest. {"Not that Aunt Sophie wore a pair of opaque stockings in her life, at least not that I know of, but I'm not interested in shaving my legs for this little masquerade!"}

Tossing that long fur scarf around his throat, Danny headed for the door, making sure to sway his backside in an alluring manner. Well, Aunt Sophie would have done the same!

"Coming, Agatha dear?" he urged, batting his eyelashes like crazy.

Lord Brett Sinclair, um, 'Lady Agatha' moved forward with a steady grace, cutting in to exit the room first, flipping her own tartan shawl back to hit 'Sophie' square in the face. 

"Well, come along, Sophie dear. Mustn't keep the others waiting. We aren't in the Colonies, you know, where such rudeness is accepted as the norm."

Danny spit the wool threads out of his mouth, just a hint of a snarl on his face, before he took Brett's arm in a helpful manner. 

"Careful on the stairs, Agatha dear; you know how your arthritis can be, especially after your hip replacement. A tumble would be SO unfortunate! You aren't as young as you once were, after all." 

The unspoken threat to just toss Lord Sinclair down those steps remained unspoken, though not unheard. Sinclair decided not to bother responding. In any event, any retort would have to wait til later, as they had just come up on the main group ready to file into the dining room. Plans already made, they separated to 'meet and mingle', hoping to get some clue as to what the hell was happening with this group. 

Their phone calls had already uncovered verification of what Mark and April had told them - two members vanished under suspicious circumstance, while another two individuals had tumbled from a train station waiting area just in time to encounter an on-coming commuter train. 

Four casualties, at least four that they were aware of, on one tour did seem rather excessive, and that was not counting the injured duck who'd found his way onto their balcony just when they'd been about to order dinner, or his battered and bruised partner.

One call in particular, to an old acquaintance in the Rome police had led to another call, this one incoming, from U.N.C.L.E. Headquarters in Rome, which had requested their unofficial assistance in ferreting out the truth about that tour caravan. 

It would seem the Head of U.N.C.L.E. New York's first thought, that of trying to insert another of his agents as a mole into the group would unlikely be successful, especially considering how quickly Mark Slate and April Dancer had been discovered, and "since you are already in the vicinity, and seem to have some related experience, we thought perhaps . . ."

Danny, being Danny, had a few contacts in a surprising number of places, and where he didn't, Sinclair did; had done a few such favors before. Besides, this situation really was starting to intrigue them, and working on something OTHER than one of Judge Fulton's schemes had its own allure.

Later, after the group parted for their respective rooms, they regrouped.

"So, whatta we got, Your Lordship? Two buses, two drivers, a tour guide and his assistant. A load of people, pretty much all ages, at least late twenties and up. Some a little past their prime, or so it'd appear, though a few might be faking it like we are. Some there cause they're paying for the tour, some cause they won some prize in a contest they don't even remember entering. Funny enough, all four of the ones who aren't there anymore, they were lucky winners too. A few are there maybe because they were ordered to, like those two from UNCLE. And some - maybe some there as the proving ground, their 'final exam' for entering the ranks of professional assassin, along with their supervisors or teachers or whatever. 

"You know, this could be as crazy as some of the stuff the Judge drops us in," Danny remarked as they prepared for bed. One bed. Oh, they'd be careful, but they still had that damned canary to deal with, and really, they weren't all that eager to annoy her again. She seemed to have a warped sense of humor along with being firmly inclined for them to see things her way. 

They'd checked their room for potential bugs, had found nothing, but even so, they kept their voices low and had their more relevatory discussions in the bathroom with the tub running full force.

"Indeed, Daniel, and all the more dangerous since we have no way of knowing who is who other than the ones April discovered. That list might not have been complete, after all. I really would prefer not to end up as someone's final exam; so lowering! A Sinclair is at least worthy of a Doctoral Thesis! You, on the other hand, perhaps the initial entrance exam? To one of the lower grades, secondary school perhaps?"

The soapy wet sponge thrown at him, hitting him smack in the face, was really well deserved, and if it led to some interesting retribution in the shower, well, they still had that canary to keep satisfied. 

The next two days were uneventful, for the most part. If Lady Agatha intruded on more than a few private conversations, well, they'd all come to expect that. As William has hastened to reassure one of the 'teachers', "it's not as if she hears a quarter of what anyone says, and rarely understands even the words, much less the meaning!"

When the student involved in that conversation suggested adding Lady Agatha to the testing "for extra credit", William was quick to protest. After all, that was rather pushing the envelope since "no matter how dense the authorities are, how slow on the uptake, that would make for a prospective nine, or perhaps ten, deaths or disappearances from one tour in one country, since I suppose you would need to include her friend in that 'extra credit' project!"

The 'teacher' was quick to pull on the reins of the over-eager wannabe assassin. "William is quite right. We are training you for a serious and useful career, not for you to set yourself up as a serial killer or mass murderer! Professionalism, young man, not self-indulgence, that's the key!"

William and Marion had their customary early morning meeting, long before their charges came down to their own breakfast. 

"Anything troublesome in line today?" Marion asked, sipping at her tea while she waited for her breakfast to arrive. She'd have preferred a nice shandy but discretion urged otherwise, so she made do with tea laced with gin. One could only carry that 'when in Rome' business so far; she wasn't about to start drinking a cappuccino or some such thing first off in the morning. Her mother had taught her far better than that, that you needed a proper start to your day, something to fortify you for the trials sure to come!

"No, much the same as usual. Plus, of course, the two newcomers and their antics and foibles. Better have aspirin handy if you're with either of them for very long. Lady Agatha and her insisting on entering conversations she doesn't half understand, along with that overwhelming scent of mothballs - Ms. Wilde and her odd stories and jasmine perfume are a bit much to take. Frankly, I'll be riding in the coach they are NOT riding in, at least for today!" William warned his assistant. "I had more than enough of them yesterday."

"Oh, I don't mind. I've an auntie of my own like Lady Agatha; I know how to deal with biddies like that. And Ms. Wilde is so funny, you know - at least, I think so! That name really suits her if half of what she goes on about is true!

"Oh, and you DID mean it, didn't you? About my taking Miss Larson's things? We're close enough to the same size, and she has some very nice clothes. I'll be very careful not to wear anything in sight of any of THESE, but afterwards, it will be a real treat to show off some of those things back home. Pity Mr. Barrows' things wouldn't fit you, William."

Well, obviously they wouldn't, Mr. Barrows, or what ever that snooping Englishman's real name was, having been the wiry type whereas William, although certainly not huge, took at least three sizes larger in his own attire.

No, there should be nothing troublesome today, Mrs. Dixon having assured him that "Dear Elizabeth's test will not involve the group at all." 

Although William thought there was another 'final exam' scheduled for somewhere between Milan and their final stop in Genoa. While he wasn't sure, he thought one or other of the teachers themselves would be undergoing their own test, perhaps before moving up in the ranks. Anyway, that wasn't any of his concern.

He saw no reason to think there would be any trouble now that the two interlopers had been dispatched, though he had to admit he was wondering when his sheep would stop being quite so willing to just accept whatever excuses or explanations he might come up with for whatever accidents or disappearances that might occur. He'd have to have a word with his employer after this was all over; after all, they couldn't keep assuming this absurd level of purblindness in their FUTURE clients. Of course, there was that quote he'd read somewhere, about a man never going broke by underestimating the intelligence of the average person, or something like that. He knew that wasn't exactly right, the words anyway; he'd seen enough to figure the underlying thought was pretty right on.

"So you think they'll try again?" Danny asked as he carefully put away his deep purple outfit of the day.

"Hopefully not, Daniel. You attracted enough attention to the both of them during that little 'accidental' encounter, and the Ambassador was hurrying to catch his flight. I imagine that was Elizabeth's one and only opportunity at that point, and while I admit it was a choice one, still it was one not likely to present itself again. It only goes to show one should not leave things to the last moment, I suppose," Brett answered. 

He was using his own voice, admittedly a relief. He'd never carried on the 'Aunt Agatha' pose more than a brief time and he was finding it wearisome. Not only that, he was more than a little concerned it might become so natural that he'd fall into character sometime when he WASN'T intending to do so. He could just imagine the uproar THAT would cause in the wrong company!

"Yeah, I guess. One thing for sure, if Grandma Gertie is a day over forty I'll eat that shawl of yours! Though, as creepy as it sounds, I think 'Dear Elizabeth' just might BE in her mid-teens. Wonder how you get started in the assassin business while you're still in high school?" he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Perhaps like my second-cousin Alfred, she woke one morning and asked herself the sensible question, "how do I combine my natural talents and inclinations into a successful career?" Of course, with Alfred, he was speaking of his double-jointedness, his ability to speak fluent pig-latin, and his inclination against ever speaking the truth if he could possibly avoid it. In Elizabeth's case, one really does have to wonder, as you say."

Danny stared at him, fighting the urge to ask just what profession second-cousin Alfred ended up in, but finally giving in when it appeared Brett had no intention of continuing without some prodding.

"So, okay, I give up. What did Alfred end up doing? Carnival act? Auctioneer? What?"

"What? Oh, he emigrated to the Colonies and became a highly-successful court lawyer. The British role of Barrister just didn't seem as suitable for his particular portfolio of talents, you see."

Danny rolled his eyes but admitted, "yeah, I can see where he'd fit it just fine. Sounds just like the guy who defended Coley Martin that time. Same skill set, that's for sure."

A knock on the door had them scurrying back into character. Luckily Brett hadn't begun to get undressed, and Danny quickly donned that tricked-up black silk negligee that Brett found extremely disturbing.

"Yes, who is it?" Agatha trilled.

"It's William. I know it's late, and I do hate to disturb you, but may I come in for a moment?"

The two 'aunts' exchanged a wary look, then signaled their agreement.

Sophie ducked back into the bathroom while Agatha made her stately way over to the door, opening it with an inquiring look.

"Whatever could be so important that you need to disturb us at this hour, William? We are getting ready to retire; I believe dear Sophie might even have removed her face," Agatha proclaimed, looking down her long nose at the man who'd interrupted their conversation.

William mentally shook himself out of his initial shock at that image before he realized Agatha was only referring to cosmetics. {"Though with this pair, nothing would really surprise me!"}

The conversation was brief, an offered apology for the mishap earlier where Elizabeth had somehow managed to tear Sophie's jacket. "I know she apologized at the time, but she was so worried she hadn't been forgiven. Her grandmother thought I might be able to calm any ruffling of the waters, so to speak."

"Oh, accidents do happen, though it was truly a shame. That was one of Sophie's favorite outfits and now it's unwearable until she has her dressmaker see about it."

"Mrs. Dixon thought that might be the case. She suggested I take the garment to an expert tailor I know so that he might repair it, at her cost, of course."

The offer was the sort that to refuse would only arouse suspicion, much as the offer itself made Brett wonder just what the enterprising Mrs. Dixon had up HER talented sleeve. He handed over the garment with a polite "I'm sure Sophie will be most grateful, William. This is most kind of you."

William seemed to have no inclination to leave, even after he had that jacket in his hands, seemed to want to draw Agatha further into conversation. Somehow that door had been closed behind him, and he took another step or two towards Agatha.

Sophie took that moment to flounce into the bedroom, though not looking up, toying with the satin tie on her long black transparent silk robe, if you could call such a thing a robe, which she wore over a black satin negligee. 

"Agatha dear, I'm finished. I'll pour the drinks while you wash up. And I took the liberty of laying out your sheer red negligee and feathery slippers. You KNOW how much I love to see you in that. Ohh!"

She stopped as she caught sight of William standing inside the door.

A slight pout came to Sophie's face. "I didn't know you had invited William, my dear. We really need to discuss these things first, you know. While I am quite open to interesting encounters, especially on vacation, still, one DOES like to have some advance notice. To get into the proper mindset, you know. I had thought tonight to be just ours."

Sophie gave William a long appraising look, then smiled and swayed across the floor towards him on her high heeled slippers. 

"On the other hand, I suppose I might be persuaded if you are quite determined, Agatha. He DOES look sturdy enough."

William turned a few shades paler than usual, hastened to declare his innocent intentions, his very proper reason for calling, bade them a polite good night and made a quick escape. 

Dropping the jacket off with Mrs. Dixon to do whatever she had planned, he hurried to his own room and the mini-bar he knew was there. He wasn't much of a drinker, but tonight was going to be different; tonight, there was a bottle with his name on it! Between that first mental image of Sophie Wilde 'removing her face', the picture of the same female in that black fantasy of a garment, and the second mental image - the one of Lady Agatha in a red sheer negligee and feathered slippers, he wondered if one bottle would be enough. When he thought of that look he had seen in Sophie Wilde's eyes, he was damned sure it wouldn't be! {"She thought I looked STURDY enough??"}

For his part, Brett Sinclair felt he needed - nay, deserved! - a good stiff drink too, even more so when he found that a silky red negligee and feathery slippers really WERE laid out in the bathroom. {"Was that HIS idea or did Reggie really include that in the wardrobe assortment??! I'd say it was just Daniel's sort of thing to be doing, but Reggie always did have that odd quirk of humor that came out on occasion."}. Returning to the doorway to see the black-clad 'Sophie' draped alluringly across the bed, coyly smiling at him, he could only wonder at the resemblance between Danny and his irrepressible aunt. That was not a comfortable thought.

"If you think for one moment - - - " he started indignantly, only to have those twinkling blue eyes make him forget what he'd been about to say.

"Wasn't me, Your Lordship. That Reggie guy must have quite the talent though, just like you said; everything else in my stuff has fit just fine, and this little black number is no different. Since that one really isn't my size, I figure he HAD to mean it for you. I know royal blue is more your color, but I gotta admit, red might be pretty snazzy on you too."

Danny laughed then, throwing back his head, though still making sure to keep in character. 

"Did you see the look on that guy's face? He lit out of here like I'd set a match to his pants!"

Brett cleared his throat admonishingly, "yes, well I can understand his concern. You thought he was 'sturdy enough'?? Really, Daniel! What on earth would we have done if he'd accepted your proposition?"

"MY proposition? Hey, you're the one who let the guy in here when we're ready to hit the sack!"

The argument that followed started out making little sense and, quite frankly, didn't improve greatly. And if Lady Agatha DID try on that red negligee and slippers, just to stop Sophie from nagging about it, it certainly wasn't something Lord Brett Sinclair intended to put in his memoirs. Now, if he could just make sure DANNY didn't include it in HIS!


	7. Back On Tour

The jacket was returned in Turin, neatly mended, before their departure to their next and final stop, Genoa. Danny took it to desk, spread it out, turned it inside out and examined every inch. 

"What do you think to find, Daniel?" Brett asked, sipping at his whiskey.

"Don't know, but I got a funny feeling," not pausing, occasionally holding a part up to the light, frowning before moving on. "Get me the sponge from the case; I think maybe I found something, but I don't wanna get too handsy with this if I'm right."

A few minutes later the damp sponge stopped in its careful tracing of the seams, caught by something not readily apparent. A cautious application of the tweezers from their first aid kit proved Danny's caution to be well-advised. A needle-sharp projection, the same color as the fabric, placed where the mere act of donning the jacket and tugging it in shape would result in a tiny, undetectable puncture wound.

"Whatta you think, poison?" Danny asked grimly.

"I'd not be surprised; it would cause such a small wound as to be senseless otherwise. Although whether it is in retaliation for your spoiling the girl's attempt or whether they are truly on to us, I wouldn't dare say. What now?"

"Now I'll continue to be fashionable, of course. It wouldn't do to wear the same thing this soon anyway. I'll thank them ever so politely tomorrow, but wear something else. One more stop, Your Lordship. You think there's more in the works? We confirmed the names those two UNCLE agents came up with; we spoiled the hit on the Ambassador. I don't know what else we're looking for, and this little surprise don't make me too comfortable, I'll tell you that."

"No, nor I as well, Daniel. I believe I will make a phone call, perhaps have allies awaiting us at our final destination. Out of sight, assuredly, but within reach if anything DOES happen."

"Better let them know who we suspect is involved too, make sure no one sneaks off without getting pulled in. I don't want to looking over my shoulder for these bozos later."

"I'll be sure to do that. I'm not greatly in favor of them showing up later either; we have quite enough to contend with in the normal course of business without that."

In Genoa, it all came together into a bizarre carousel of madness that afterwards Lord Sinclair proclaimed to be the equivalent of somehow merging all of the later Fellini films into one. 

"Taking care to sift out anything that made any sense first, of course, and running it at a higher speed than originally intended," he groaned through his headache.

"Yeah? I'm not so much for that high-brow stuff, Fellini and all, but I did see a resemblance to The Three Stooges and maybe a couple Keystone Cops movies I saw when I was a kid."

Lord Sinclair had only minor exposure to either of those, but he admitted there was a certain justification in Danny's claim. 

The number of weapons being pulled by six of the individuals emerging from the bus caravan, those being snatched away only to be gathered up by someone else - the innocent tourists, some screaming in terror, some peering through the bus windows in fascination - the six assassins attacking Brett and Danny, still in disguise as Sophie and Lady Agatha. The attack from behind by Marion, wielding a leather sap, had left Brett winded and dazed, sprawled out on the brickwork, Danny standing over him, gun in one hand and flailing away with that drawstring purse with the other.

That was when the police decided to intervene; one could only suppose the delay was caused by THEIR astonishment at the scene. The assassins had then tried to flee, only to be gathered up by the whistle-blowing officers in varying uniforms - William and Marion each vying for being the first to rat out the other and claim their own total innocence. Well, neither were all that innocent, though the discovery that the feather-brained Marion WAS the brains and money behind the whole assassin-for-hire business left everyone in shock, especially William! He felt quite taken advantage of, in fact, and delivered a very moving soliloquy to that effect, to which Marion replied only with a "oh, shut up, you drip!".

Yes, looking back, it had been quite a scene worthy of being filmed, presented to an eager audience, to be viewed to the accompaniment of pop corn and various other movie house treats.

"So, Daniel, just where did you pick up that trick of a doorknob concealed in a handbag? Or was it a doorknob in a sock, perhaps used in some back alley brawl?" Brett asked, nursing his aching head. 

He'd been lucky to have been wearing that grey wig with the chignon atop the coiled braid; it had muffled the harsh blow considerably, enough he had a headache but not a concussion. It could have easily been otherwise.

"Ha ha! Very funny! Actually, it was kinda both, come to think of it. Though for me it was a bunch of ball bearings in the sock, and that was when I came up against . . . 

"Well, nevermind, Your Lord - pardon me, Your LADYship! Nah, the doorknob in a handbag, that WAS my Aunt Sophie. Hers was cut crystal with a gold rim where the spoke was supposed to fit through. She still had the spoke, and don't get me telling you what she used THAT for! Weighed a ton, that doorknob and she carried it in this velvet brocade evening bag. That is, when she wasn't using that black beaded French model she liked so much. Could easily lay a sailor out with one good swing. 

"Course she could lay out a sailor pretty easily in a few other ways too, if you know what I mean. Aunt Sophie had a real soft spot for Navy guys. Of course, she wasn't one to turn away from a Marine, or a Merchant Marine, even Army sometimes; really, most good-looking guys in a uniform. Didn't even have to be good-looking if he tickled her fancy. Metaphorically speaking, of course. She wouldn't go along with any tickling of her fancy til she at least caught his name. Aunt Sophie, she's got standards, you know."

"Forget I asked. Is there any more ice?" Lord Sinclair asked, checking the limp ice pack he'd just removed from the top of his head.

"Sure. You need another ice pack or something to comfort the inner man?"

Sinclair glanced over at the offerings on the table. Sherry and various other lady-like labels, but there were a few others. {"Probably in case the 'ladies' have gentlemen callers."}

"Ice pack, please. AND I could use a whiskey, but of course we wouldn't dilute that with ice. Unless it is truly appalling," he admitted.

Danny, still in his rather disheveled Aunt Sophie rig, even to the velvet pouch bag hanging from his waist, the outline of that heavy iron doorknob disguised by various feminine odds and ends, surveyed the options. 

"I think you'd better go with the ice, Lady Agatha, or better yet, wait til I order in something decent. I wouldn't offer any of this to my worse enemy. Why the hell did Room Service think two elderly - pardon me - two ladies of uncertain years would serve this swill to their guests, unless they were aiming to poison them?"

He picked up the phone to remedy that offense and Aunt Sophie trilled out of his mouth as if she lived inside. Sinclair was amused that even the look on his partner's face reverted to what he recognized from his brief encounter with Danny's beloved if outlandish aunt. 

Of course, Sinclair knew Danny was equally amused by 'Lady Agatha', Brett's own beloved and equally outlandish (if in quite different ways) aunt - both the real article and the clever impersonation of Lady Agatha that Brett was rather known for in the family. That Lady Agatha found it as amusing as anyone else was the one saving grace that kept him from feelings of embarrassment or guilt at the impersonation.

Room Service delivered something far more drinkable, and the radio was turned on, and up, to where their subsequent activities and conversations were lost in the background. Tomorrow might be another day and all that, heading back to Milan to pick up their luggage, check on the two UNCLE agents and settle their by-now rather large tab, but tonight was here and now, and considering everything, they weren't going to just dismiss the possibilities. After all, they still had that damned canary to placate.


	8. Milan

April laughed with sheer delight as Brett Sinclair and Danny Wilde in their Sophie Wilde and Lady Agatha personas presented themselves to share a bottle of wine and the full story of their adventures. Her amusement was only heightened by that knock on the door and the exchange that followed.

The respectful voice of the hotel manager called through the door.

"Excuse me, but His Lordship's visitors have arrived, Mr. Lewis. I took the liberty of escorting them up personally."

"Visitors?" Brett asked quietly, looking around. He focused on Mark Slate, the one with that wicked grin, with a questioning look.

"Oh, yes. It appears you have visitors; your friend downstairs called and I told him to show them up to our room. I'm sure April will be delighted to meet them; I know I will be."

Danny frowned in apprehensive confusion - that grin really DID warrant it - went to open the door and stood in silent shock.

"Well, zeiskeit? Aren't you going to invite us in?" the shorter of the two women standing there asked, though not waiting for that to happen, just patted his cheek and waltzed past him and into the room, smiling broadly at the others sitting on the couches.

"Oh, do, dear boy! We arrived here and saw your names in the registry - well, the man at the desk was most helpful. I ran into Sophie in, well, I don't remember where, but we saw the resemblance immediately. We struck it off quite well, were deciding how to spend our time, and we heard such delightful things about these Spring Tours, we decided we simply MUST give one a try! And since your man of business told us YOU were in Milan doing the same thing, Brett, how COULD we resist?" the taller woman, the one in the glasses trilled.

"Aunt Sophie?" Danny gulped, finally regaining his voice.

"Aunt Agatha??" Brett echoed, rising to his feet rapidly.

And April dissolved into a pool of laughter, only with great difficulty pulling herself out to allow her to be introduced. Though, throughout the quite enjoyable and amiable cocktail session - the wine soon being joined by stronger tipple more preferred by the ladies, along with snacks delivered by Room Service - she felt the giggles start to arise.

Well, how could it be any different, sharing the cozy exchange with Mark, Lady Agatha 1 and Lady Agatha 2, and of course, both shining, glittering Sophie Wildes. 

And perhaps the most amusing thing? Neither Sophie or Lady Agatha even batted an eyelash at how their nephews were dressed or the mannerisms they had quickly resumed. 

Well, the most amusing thing other than that stirring duet by the two Sophies of the old Sophie Tucker hit 'Some Of These Days'. That April filed away in her 'most cherished memories' file. 

Frankly, though it would have taken red hot pincers to get him to admit it, so did Lord Brett Sinclair.


	9. Epilogue - UNCLE Headquarters, New York

The familiar scowl greeted the four as they made their way into their superior's office. They'd not had a chance to do much catching-up since their return just earlier that morning, but had heard enough to know there was an evening's worth of stories to be told.

"Well, gentlemen, Miss Dancer. If you have decided to put your minds back to work after your vacations in Italy, I suggest we get with it. You will find the files on your next mission in front of you. I doubt it will be anything nearly as simple and uncomplicated as your last endeavors, so I DO hope you are ready to get back to some serious work."

The four refrained from the raised eyebrows or snorts of derision they each felt was the appropriate if totally impolitic response all of that deserved. {"Vacations?"}. Mark's arm was in a sling, Illya was walking with a decided limp though his eyes were now at least focusing properly, Napoleon was still sniffling, and April's black eye, visible under her makeup, was turning yellowish-green. 

"Yes, Mr. Waverly. Of course," came out in unison. Oh, well, back to the grind.


End file.
